


Pieces In The Game

by TheMockingCrows



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Blood and Violence, Deadly Games, M/M, light Beta Ot4
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:40:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23690983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMockingCrows/pseuds/TheMockingCrows
Summary: Trapped in a gladiatorial combat game without control of his own body, Dave must rely on his player to control his movements and win his freedom. John, a bit of a prodigy with video games, is his player and recently has come to the realization of just how intense these games really are. Without knowing who is on either end of the controls, is it possible for one friend to win the other's freedom? Or will they all just wind up pawns in the end?
Relationships: John Egbert/Dave Strider
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	Pieces In The Game

It was a dangerous life, and if Dave had a choice he never would have gotten involved in it. Nobody with a shred of sanity would want this life. Most fighters didn’t live very long, relying solely on their controllers to translate their own abilities into motion, giving up their bodily control for the sake of overdrive. The only ways out were death, or to win and get to retire... But it all came down to how talented their controllers were in the heat of battle. The modern gladiatorial games were the cutting edge of science and gaming technology with a wildly successful gambling edge to it, the characters made of pixels replaced with flesh and blood, and the stakes made far higher. The newest and greatest in blood and gore, with a cult following the world over.

While most of the competitors were criminals, Dave was not. He knew he’d been scammed into this, must have pissed off the wrong person with his outspoken distaste for the current regime in charge online, but he’d never gotten a chance to find out who or how for certain. Even now, during the downtime when he wasn’t fighting, he couldn’t find out. His access to his old social media accounts and bank accounts were blocked, but he was free to make fresh and indulge in online life as he pleased. ...Within limits of course. Some phrases couldn’t make it past the censors, as well as some topics, caught automatically by the system and rejected, left unposted or unsent. Everything else? Fair game.

He’d learned to work with codes to try singling out other fighters, or people who currently had thoughts against the Condesce and her family, phrases and changed letters signifying freedom in new and different ways that the censors couldn’t keep up with. It was a small window, but a comforting one. He could leave messages this way, leave a trail, even if to the outside it looked like nothing. A legacy was left in his social media ramblings, waiting for someone to understand them who could enact change.

This bit of freedom was why Dave was able to have some semblance of friends online, and got to learn more about them, as well as be able to play videogames of his own… though he was more picky about what he played, usually opting for things as far removed from his own reality as possible. Farming simulators and games dealing with run and fetch missions brought hours of entertainment to him compared to other prisoners who enjoyed playing games of warfare and battle. Another keen interest of his was games involving skill that he could break, going out of bounds or glitching the character in unimaginable ways. It gave him hope that someday, somehow, he’d figure out how to ‘glitch’ himself and leave the confines of his prison.

It’s not like he was missing much by avoiding the war and fighting games. In here their own abilities didn’t really matter, it’s not like they could learn techniques from those games. The players? They could. But the pieces were just there to go to the limits of their bodies and hope they didn’t get assigned to a newbie. ...Or if they were assigned to a newbie, praying that the person in question, whoever they were, were absolutely baller at the game itself.

With his emails answered, Dave worked on feeding his digital flock while checking in with his friends in the other window. Rose was talking about a new knitting project for her girlfriend, someone who was pretty attractive if Dave could say so based on pictures she’d shared in the past. Jade was going off about some kind of physics thing that Dave couldn’t track, but occasionally she’d stop and talk about game engines. Dave was pretty sure she designed new gaming technology, new virtual reality tools and force feedback things as opposed to the units that he dealt with every fight. Pretty sure she wasn’t the type of person to be that into things being embedded into human bodies, or at least he hoped. Not like he could give her feedback even if she did, thanks to the censors.

Then there was John, who despite being the most open of the group, was the least understood. He’d talk about this game or another, sometimes joining Dave and the others for a relaxing game where they could gather resources and build things together, other times just rambling about competitions. He seemed the type to collect cards too, based on how seriously he talked about it, and seemed the type to win at a decent rate. Yet as often as he talked about games, he talked very little about himself or his home life aside from the occasional ‘my mom’s calling I’ve got to go’.

Dave wondered if he knew much about the piece games he was involved in, or knew how they worked. Not that he’d get recognized anywhere with the helmets everyone wore, but it was still a strange connection to think about. What if any of them knew he was in here? Would they treat him like a run of the mill prisoner, or someone bad? Or would they treat him like a victim of the system, forced to run in the wheels to stay alive in the machine?

...Dave lost his urge to play with his chickens, and once Belle and Henrietta and the others were fed, held, and put back in to avoid the next game day’s rain, he disconnected from online and got up to pace. Pacing helped. It helped to settle his racing thoughts, his worries, the stress. Pacing and working out, though he knew better than to do too much of that in the wrong way. Too much and he’d bulk up and be slower, too little and he wouldn’t be strong enough even with overdrive initiated, and any outside of his cell in the yard would just be a cause for infighting and more reason for people to try ganging up on him.

Winning multiple times in a row tended to put a target on one’s back, and Dave knew his spine was painted with the red of his victories in a nice big bullseye for everyone’s focus to be drawn to, so he tended to keep his head down and not react when provoked. It was safer. It was easier. It was the only way to be ready to keep going forward if he wanted to keep winning with his player.

  
  


\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

John had been playing games competitively for years, but he’d never played a game quite like this before. The controls to the humans bodies unleashed that untapped potential in some amazing ways, but the character that he’d been assigned as the player of had a few quirks. For one, he was the fastest thing John had ever seen in his life, hard to keep track of as if he phased in and out of reality in a blur when really pressed. For another, his reaction times and response times were through the roof. It was like he’d been born to be a piece on the board.

Every time he won, John received some prize money and accolades, though as the wins racked up, so did his curiosity. Who was behind that helmet? ...Did they like being a piece? Were they treated well when not on the board? Were they okay?

He’d never bothered with such concerns before. Being his mother’s son, he’d developed a bit of a streak for nihilism to get by, and everyone’s losses were just another game to him. That is, till a recent win had sprayed blood back on the feedback receiver and the piece died a slow death instead of the quick one he’d been expecting as the ultimate loss. Sometimes they were just incapacitated and could come back for another try, but other times killing blows happened. His swordsman piece was intensely powerful and he wasn’t afraid to use him till that second.

Now, John found himself second guessing the game entirely. They weren’t even able to scream when in pain, weren’t able to call it quits on their own. Broken bones or not, they could be pushed to the breaking point all over again at the hands of their controller, so long as their body could keep up under the strain. It looked like torture, he started to realize, not just some act. What kind of a life was that to live?

He’d asked about buying the freedom of his piece before, knowing his mother would agree if he plied her just right, wore his best bow tie and smiled as brightly as he could after doing some bonding activity or another with her, but rules were rules and not even the son of the regime leader could bend them once in place. If one could be bought out, they all could, and where would the games be then? The pieces remained where they were.

If he couldn’t get this person out illegally, then he decided he’d just need to win legally, and then see what they were like. Maybe plan for when he was older and more capable of fighting against his mother’s wishes to change the rules that were in place that no longer seemed fair.

John spent a lot of his time playing war games, battle games, fighting games, anything with intense combos and a reward and punishment system for fuckups, trying to hone his own reaction times so he’d be more useful for his piece. It was stressful, though. So stressful now that he knew the true weight of what hung over him. That’s why there was always time to wind down with his friends and play low stress games, farming sims and cooperative fantasy games that were mostly hunt and fetch. Everyone seemed to be into that kind of game, but Dave seemed to like them the most. He was always the first to volunteer to play, or was already playing on his own.

Sometimes John wondered what Dave got up to when he wasn’t online, it seemed like he was always there whenever John was. Oh.. maybe he didn’t have many friends? Aside from Rose and Jade and himself, who were all fairly busy people, maybe there wasn’t anyone else who could really play with him or talk with him or keep him company.

John knew how that felt.

Growing up as his mother’s son, he’d been lonesome in a lot of ways. People were either intimidated by him or pitied him, scared of the Crocker name and reputation that reached the world over. The Condesce was not to be trifled with, and her family was Perfect in ways that humans weren’t meant to be by sheer repetition and force. Perfection was expected, if not demanded, and John was… happy to comply.

That sure was one way to put it.

John diluted his stress through the games that took skill and timing to better deal with his home life, though now that he knew the truth about the piece game he played, the stress was rekindled in new ways. He didn’t have to be good enough for his mother anymore, he had to be good enough for her and good enough for the swordsman he controlled to keep him alive.

  
  


\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

  
  


There was a game set for today, and Dave’s number came up. He spent the morning getting ready, making his usual posts on social media, stretching, eating breakfast and taking the first dose of medication that would relax his muscles and further attune him to the implanted receiver that rested against his back that would be plugged into the suit. He said hi to his friends like it was any other normal day, though John wasn’t around. Lately that had been a pattern that kind of sucked: any time it was a game day for Dave, there was a 50-50 chance John wouldn’t be around. He couldn’t say goodbye to any of them, not really, without being able to explain his situation… but it was still comforting to be around them whenever he could. Missing one of them was like an ache in his stomach.

No matter. There were bigger issues at hand.

Dave showered and put the plug suit on in his prep room, form fitting and designed for minimal armor, and adjusted the neck till he felt the receiver and the main plug connect and slip into place. Wired up, Dave sat down to put on his boots, high to the knee and laced tight, and then checked on his sword.

He hated the damned thing, but it’s what he was most attuned to already. It had been replaced a few times by now, sometimes breaking in the moment in older fights, or getting chips put into the metal from hitting the other players bone or armor or weapon head on. This new model was flawless, metal holding an iridescent sheen to it, weight good in his hands. His brother would probably love it, if he were still around.

...No. He’d probably hate it. Even with all the pimping out, his brother’s sword was still better, and he was still bitter about what they’d done to him. No amount of shine could polish that murder out of his mind.

With a soft whoosh sound, Dave felt the first relays acting up, signaling it was time to get ready and reach the main area. The players were prepared. Slipping on his helmet and cinching it in place, Dave took up his sword and waited by the door for it to open, releasing him to the main waiting area with other pieces. Some had hammers, others had lances or bow staffs, different weapons here and there. It really was like being in a video game, the uncomfortable flux of reality and game being all the more overpowering here.

They all reacted at the same time to the tone over a loudspeaker, the signal that the first connection burst was coming, stinging along their nerves like fire from head to toe till they almost dropped to the ground. The second burst was lighter, a relief to the body, freeing them from control. They didn’t have to think about their actions anymore. Everything was out off their hands at this point, left up to the unseen controller, the player in control of each piece guiding them forward in a procession to the arena and taking their pre-destined places. Dave’s was near the inner edge of the arena, closer to the middle that signaled the final battle to be won: if he got to go to the middle, and withstood the onslaught, he would be freed.

He couldn’t recall the last person who’d made it out that way, but he wondered if they were doing okay with their freedom. With their new life.

Dave found himself bouncing foot to foot soon enough, taking practice swings with his sword as his controller warmed up and prepared. Same controller, then. He did this every time before a fight, making sure the reaction times were up to snuff, making sure there were no latent issues before a match began. The red light above Dave turned yellow, and the bouncing of his body stopped, his stance lowering, one arm lifting like something out of an anime. ...What kind of a nerd was his controller, this was almost embarrassing.

Green light, and Dave was running full force ahead, hunting the first target.

  
  


\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

  
  


John was hooked up and prepared, gloves on his hands, visor over his eyes, and controls ready to be activated by hand or foot. He could hear the commentator giving live descriptions, and tried to tune him out. Anything he was describing had already happened, was too late, was pointless to focus on. A distraction. All John needed was his shared sight with the piece, the weight of the glove on his hands, and a reminder of just how much drag the sword had.

Combos were easier to execute with hands and feet, making the piece jump and slash, rebound, then spring towards another target almost faster than the commentator could track. Blood sprayed, reddening his vision, but it didn’t stop him. The only thing on John’s mind was combos, and avoiding being hit. Yeah, being hit wouldn’t stop him immediately… but it would slow his piece down considerably, and cause problems in general. Since coming to the realization that the pieces were living breathing people, since having the realization he was controlling a human’s life or death, John had become all the more ruthless.

He couldn’t save everyone but damn it he could try to save one of them, and he’d do everything he could to do that.

Breathing slowly, John counted down in his head as another target approached, swinging a large weapon wildly. One, zip close when the weapon was pulled back. Two, attack the torso. Three, attack the back before using it to spring free and away. Four, flee the area entirely, come back to finish them off later if needs be. They wouldn’t be much of an issue anymore either way. Cleanup was just for extra points and guarantees, but points didn’t matter in this game. Not really. The point were more there for the gamblers and the people trying to gauge odds at home. Staying alive was what mattered.

Another enemy came from the left, fast enough that John had to jump back to avoid the lance. A spurt of speed however, and he was running up the weapon at an angle, slashing for the helmet and shoulder of the user, leaping off in a tuck and roll flip when they started to go down.

John raced his piece around the center of the arena, sizing up a third target, taking the initiative this time. While they were busy with someone up front, he rushed up and stabbed through their middle from behind, blood pouring over his hands. The grip on the sword stayed true, however, cutting a deep angle into the body before withdrawing and slicking blood off down the blood groove thanks to a flick and some gravity. It left him face front with the piece the former had been fighting, who luckily hesitated before trying to do something complex.

John stabbed the sword down to ground himself and turned, aiming a harsh kick at the twisting midair figure, then followed through by grabbing the sword and slicing with a full body’s worth of momentum as he turned. Off went the competitors arm, and down went John to one knee to recuperate for a moment.

He’d pushed the piece’s body pretty hard, and knew all the blood was probably not great for their psyche, but what could he do! The best that could be done was to rest for a moment, let him catch his breath before going to pick over who was left till the number was low enough t-

The green lights turned red, signaling the end of the round, and John blinked. 

Oh. Well then. Guess he was more thorough than anticipated.

Slowly, John got the piece back up to his feet and walked him to the waiting area where control would be disconnected. He kept the helmet on till last, wanting to catch a few more glimpses of his player character from the outside as he removed his gloves and finally the visor. Sound regained meaning to him again, as suddenly a microphone was placed in front of his mouth, the announcer wanting a few words from his victory.

“John, you’ve just placed first  _ again  _ in an unprecedented victory! Do you have any words for the fans at home?” asked the smooth talking fellow, his clothes too flashy, too bright for what had just happened. He’d just ended people’s lives with his own hands, made someone else kill people with their hands, bathed someone in their blood, and this jackass wanted to know what he thought?

Oh he thought  _ plenty. _ ...But John knew his mother was watching, and if his mother was watching then he had to continue to be the good boy she knew and expected. He propped up a smile, bright and normal and perfectly balanced. Perfectly rehearsed.

“Well, darn, it’s not like it’s  _ hard  _ to do this. Just need to remember the right combos and have a feel for your piece,” he chuckled, giving a little wave. 

“You heard it here first, folks! In his fifth victory, all you need to do is know how to play the game and you’ll win. Wise words from an excellent player, and wise actions from the son of our very own Condesce,” the announcer tutted, amused by the boyish words.

John remained on site for a while, answering questions and dealing with the bitter but good sportsmanlike handshakes from his competitors. They didn’t really seem to have the same worries John did. Their pieces had died, and the most they were upset about was losing, not that someone was dead. Not that multiple someones were dead. Not that more people would die the next week and the week after that, and the next time they came in to play they’d be involved in more bloodshed. None of it seemed to bother them, to touch them in the slightest.

When he was free to go back to his home, back to his room, he took his nauseated self to the lavish bathroom and turned on the shower as hot as he could handle it. Dinner would be delivered to his quarters later, since he usually ate in his room after games, but he wasn’t sure how much of it he’d really eat. Enough to keep his mother off his back and others from asking questions, at least.

Off went John’s clothes and his glasses in the steamy room before he entered the shower and sat down, letting the water run over him steadily. He watched his hands, flexed his fingers, and tried to remember the weight of the gloves. Tried to imagine how it would feel if he were the piece holding the sword instead of the controller. Tried to imagine what color his piece’s eyes were aside from the electric blue that signaled John’s control. 

What did he look like? What was his name? How old was he? The helmet left so many questions, and though the armor gave pretty clear outlines to the body, it was hard to tell many details beyond general shape. His piece was slender and had lean muscle, was average height, and had long limbs and strong fingers. Controlling a sword felt natural with these controls. And then there was the strange speed… How could he even manage that? Even with the body modifications from the connection, even with the body being pushed to maximum, that speed was almost terrifying.

John slicked his hair back and reached up for one of the expensive shampoos from the edge of the tub, scrubbing his hair while he sat to make the most of his sulking. He eventually stood up and washed the rest of himself, rinsing off and leaving when he couldn’t stand the heat anymore, flopping on his bed with his towel wrapped around his waist so he could drip dry. Flipping to his stomach, body steaming, he grabbed his laptop and logged on, seeing the usual group.

Rose and Jade had been involved in a deep conversation about recreating musical tones digitally, wondering how to improve electric violins by going a step beyond, making it virtually possible to practice even without a violin in hand. Jade had experimented with a flute option but found it too difficult, while a bass option had worked well. Stringed instruments seemed to be heads above other types thus far, but she promised to iron the kinks out of it over time. Eventually an entire orchestra could be composed in virtual reality with accurate tones and intensity by a single person who would then be able to do the same with real instruments, or at least that was her plan.

gG: really, its not going to be that hard. It all just comes down to input and human error, but if things work out it would be like a training course that could carry over into the real world!

gG: remember those old games that taught you guitar while you played a game? same thing, but a ton of different instruments! :D

Dave logged on by the time John’s dinner was delivered by a maid, posting a picture of himself fresh out of the shower, blonde hair wet and hanging over his red eyes, skin pink from the heat. He was smirking, as if knowing the disruption would stir people up, and he was right.

gG: geeze, warn us first! :o

tT: If he warned us I don’t think he’d be able to post with that smirk.

eB: oh hey you just got out of the shower too.

There was a pause before Dave typed next in the group chat.

tG: well you cant just say that and leave the adoring public high and dry egbert

tG: pics or it didnt happen

gG: now were talking!!

tT: Not there’s challenges to uphold, no less. Jade, do you suppose we should do the same when we shower later?

gG: :( i already showered this morning though...

tT: Pity. Next time, then. I’ll be sure to remind you.

tG: that mean we get to see some lalonde action later or what

tT: By Lalonde action do you mean seeing me in a towel? Because yes.

gG: hubba hubba!! ;)

tT: Jade, please.

John blinked and scrolled back up to Dave’s picture, looking it over again while biting his lip. ...Shit. Okay, he was attractive when dry but seeing him wet just added another dimension to it. Hello future images for the guilty fap bank. He paused while saving the image with a slight frown, however, looking at his friend’s torso. There were bruises on him here and there, and the impression of what looked like a halter strap on his flushed torso. A shape that looked somewhat familiar against his flushed skin...

tT: John are you going to leave your public thirsting, or are you just building up anticipation before slipping something into the chat?

tG: hot

Oh. Right. Coughing, John sat upright and tried to pose himself with his towel similarly to how Dave had posed, showing off a bit while still being demure. It turned out different, John being chubby compared to Dave’s slender form, but he assumed it looked good enough to send. 

tG: i repeat

tG: hot

tG: goddamn egbert is this why you dont post selfies more often

John bit his lip harder and groaned quietly. Someone who looked like that calling him hot? Shit, even if he was joking it went straight to his dick. The girls complimented him as well, and within an hour or two Rose had added a picture to the chat that they all showered with compliments, but it was Dave’s words and photo that haunted John as he went to sleep.

  
  


\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

  
  


It had taken a while to wash all the blood off from the day’ competition. Dave returned to his room exhausted and dazed, deciding to show off for fun. At the right angle, nobody could see the implant or signs of where he was, a simple white wall behind him the ultimate incognito space to work with. If he couldn’t flirt with his friends, who could he realistically flirt with? Random people, sure, but it didn’t matter in the slightest comparatively. At least these people cared about him, and he cared about their opinions.

He’d already made up his mind: whenever, or if he ever got out of here, they’d be the first people he visited. Dave wanted to see Jade’s smile in person, and maybe kiss her. He wanted to hear Rose’s voice without the faint crackle of distance between them, and maybe kiss her too. And John… well. Shit. He’d kind of shown all his cards on that one this time, but who could blame him?

He was getting closer and closer to either winning or losing, and there might not be much time left. There was nothing to lose anymore. If he died, at least his friends would know he cared about them in a lot of ways. Dave stayed up late into the night shooting the shit with everyone, and once John went to bed, continued talking with the girls till only Rose was left in his direct messages, the group chat quiet for the night.

tT: Did you mean to spill homoeroticism all over the place earlier, or was it a slip that you just decided to own up to? It’s not the first time you’ve done it, but this is the first time you’ve been so blunt.

tT: However, if it’s a joke, it’s a tactless one. I think John was really flattered.

Dave sighed. 

tG: it wasnt a joke

tG: i dont feel like getting into it right now

Not like he could really get into it, after all. The censors were ready and waiting for him to fuck up, and even if he tried, he wasn’t sure if Rose would understand the attempts at telling her about the game.

tT: Understandable, though I do hope you’ll let me in on it at some point.

tG: you feel like going on about why you were hitting on jade so much tonight

tT: She’s hot, who wouldn’t hit on her.

tG: touche

Maybe he could try, though.

tG: if i tried to explain something do you think youd be able to pick up what im putting down

tT: One way to find out, isn’t there. Am I masculine enough to pick up what you’ve placed down, or is this a request for a bend and snap.

tG: focus

tT: Yes, yes, focusing.

Dave licked his lips.

tG: i play a very intense thing

tT: An intense chicken hoarding game?

tG: im living an intense life in a place not my home

tG: and i might be famous without being famous

tT: Hm. Are you an internet celebrity? I admit I’m not on many social media sites, and the ones I’m on I more pay attention to my circles than anyone outside of them.

tG: nobody knows who i am

tT: Ah, the price of fame.

tG: i dont want to be famous

tT: I’ve heard the limelight isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, yes.

Dave groaned and rubbed his face, frustrated, and hurriedly typed and sent a reply.

ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR

ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR

tG: for fucks sake im a living piece in a game board and i dont want to die and id give anything to tell you all about this shit but theres a piece of shit watching me that wont let me

ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR

ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR

Cussing, Dave shoved his laptop away as the post was strangled and his connection was dropped for the night. Unable to distract himself, he slept restlessly on his cot, arms crossed and red eyes repeatedly looking towards the night sky from his barred window. Somewhere out there was all of his friends, and damn it, someday he’d get to meet all of them and let them know precisely what they meant to him.


End file.
